He soon earned his first battle scar,
When he went to war, but then he went too far,
Past barb, bullet, and fallen comrades,
Through fog and bog as hope slowly fades.

Cannon and shot heard all around,
But trembling bushes hear no sound.
Valiantly still he held his own,
But treacherous powers had him blown.

His eyes wandered to the lateral rose,
Blossom he desired, but thorns he chose.
Equal in the dust made, his crimson slowly flowed,
Replenishing parched dirt; the petals slowly glowed.

The clouds since roll above this hallowed place,
Where smiling cherubs give Boreas chase,
And each that hears the singing bushes knows,
The ballad of the warrior and his rose.

There are many agent Smiths
There is only one Neo

There are many lies
There is only one truth

There are many battles
There is only one war

There are many scars
There is only one laurel wreath

There are many tear drops
There is only one smile

There are many failures
There is only one triumph

There are many desires
There is only one soul

There are many stars
There is only one Sun

There are many dark nights
There is only one sunrise

So when you're all alone facing inevitability
Know that you are The One.

A whittled rose in the mist of June
An old spruce guitar out of tune
A broken lichened picket gate
A dusty mail box - too late

Son: Dear father, I was born to fly!

Father: Humility, my son. Stay on ground.
The fool seeks to undermine others around.
This fool only unto himself does lie.
The truth alone on the journey can be found.
You are my son! Your soul you shaln't deny.

Son: Hmm..., alright then. But I'll still astound,
and lift the whole world with me up high.

It is real!
It enters with zeal.
Invisible! but those mirrors feel.
The clock and the calendar it will steal.
It remains concealed, it dare not itself reveal.

It is pain!
When hope's slain.
An empty bottle, a broken chain.
Like a bad penny, it will return again.
The apple of the eye, the worm in the brain.

A lost ship!
Once did regale.
A stooping mast, sagging sails.
The bow is glazed in white frost.
A crooked anchor, an immeasurable cost.

Stay calm and quiet,
while the voice within bids you riot.
Though of the lies you're thoroughly annoyed,
breathe a word and they'll brand you paranoid.

It is hard indeed to find a reason,
when the soul of world seems void.
But if you stubbornly refuse to bend,
you will win through in the end.

For the spirit must journey through slime,
before it can turn sublime.

Corollary:
Give me an army of lovers,
and I shall conquer bureaucracy!
Nah! Not really...
… but maybe, just maybe...

No rainbow without rain.
No perspective without pain,
that from the climb you gain,
when you conquer your mountain.

When darkness has descended,
your energy sapped and all hope has flown,
you fall shattered and forlorn,
look to the light within.

When thunder rages out around,
wisdom in the voice within is found.
So mark that hallowed ground,
so the next intrepid soul shall know:

drink your tears,
its your fountain of wisdom;
embrace your fears,
its your armour for battles to come.